


You Decide Who You Are

by kittykatknits



Series: Bury Our Nightmares Together [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, First Time, Fluff, Post-Canon, R plus L equals J, Smut, allusions to past trauma, for them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-08 23:34:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11656995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittykatknits/pseuds/kittykatknits
Summary: Written for this prompt on tumblr:I think Jon and Sansa won't be at the best terms when Jon will have to ride South to meet Dany because Sansa won't want for Jon to leave her when he promised he'd always protect her and she's kind of cold and angry at him when they say goodbye, so I'd love to read what happens when he's back at Winterfell and how they make up (hopefully Bran's there so they'll find out they're cousins?). Thank you so much!------Jon returns home one last time and learns a shocking truth. Now, he has to decide who he is meant to be.This is also a prequel to the first part of this series, for Janina who asked about their first time together.





	You Decide Who You Are

Jon drew up his horse as Winterfell appeared before him. It was still some distance away yet, the many towers were an indistinct mass of grey, he could not tell one from the other. Two moons had passed since he last saw his family, he had longed for them each day of his absence. Arya would demand they spar while Bran would only talk of the war to come. And her.

Jon pulled the scroll from his cloak as he had so many times before, Sansa’s neat script carried the same message it always did. He rubbed the parchment with the thumb of his brown leather glove, worn smooth from wear. It was the last message she sent him and he had turned craven, not able to provide an answer. It had been Arya’s lazier hand that penned all missives he’d received since.

He kicked his horse, pushing it into a fast gallop, to home. To Sansa. Jon followed the kings road, under the arched gate and through the tunnel, stopping before the guard hall and armory. A sense of unease came over him as he cast about, looking for the greeting he expected Sansa to have arranged for him. More than once, he had listened to her patiently explain why it must be done, the meaning behind the ceremony. Yet, she was not there. Nor any other member of his family. Sword training took place by the first keep and past the bridge, he could see the household guard at archery practice. Servants moved around him, squires stood about, and sounds of weapon making came from the armory. None took notice of him.

“Jon.” A girl, clad in a dark grey jerkin, breeches, and a heavy fur cloak appeared before him.

“Arya,” he bellowed out in his excitement. Jon raced the few steps towards her, pulling her into an embrace. “I’ve missed you. Where is Bran and Sansa?”

She pulled back. “Bran is in his room, talking to the trees like he always does. Sansa is busy.”

Jon resisted the urge to pull the scroll from his cloak, there were no more secrets he would find in it. His unease grew. They had quarreled the last time he had been in Winterfell. Sansa had warned him, begged him to understand. But, both dragon glass and men marched north towards Winterfell now and if there was a cost for them, he would pay it gladly.

“Busy,” he repeated glumly.

“She’s the lady of Winterfell, did you expect her to be sitting here for you to show up?”

He had expected exactly that. A raven had been sent from the Cerywns, their land was less than a day’s ride from Winterfell. “I suppose not. I’m famished but thought we could spar a bit after eating.” He mussed her hair, laughing.

“Brienne’s teaching me now.”

They spoke for a few minutes more before Arya began to leave him. “Bran wants you to come see him, says it’s important.” She hesitated. “Never thought you liked red,” Arya said before walking away.

Jon took his horse to to the stables alone before escaping to his chambers, hoping to find a meal ready for him. There was none. He pulled out the scroll, reading it again, before placing the paper on a nearby table.

His efforts to find Sansa in her rooms and the maester’s turret both ended in failure. Now, he stood before the heart tree, but she was not in the godswood. It was still, even in the cold of winter, there was no wind to move its branches. There were no ravens flying in the limbs above him. The gods were silent, they had no words for him.

It was under this tree when they had last spoke, last argued. He had pulled off his glove to wipe the tears from her face. She had begged him one last time before her expression turned cold, Sansa had become his queen of winter then. Jon had hoped the passage of time would lessen her anger. He was a fool, that scrap of paper demonstrating the fact well enough.

She was in the lichyard, Ghost at her side. Sansa wore a gown of rich grey velvet. Her hair, bright auburn red, streamed down her back. Grey, white, and red. Northern colors. Old god colors. Jon fingered the edging of his own cloak, shame filled him.

“Sansa.”

“Your grace.” Her voice was clipped. She turned slowly, facing him. “Or is it my lord?”

He had not expected that. “I had hoped you would be waiting for me.”

His queen of winter was before him again, beautiful and cold and distant. “Forgive me, I was needed elsewhere.”

That was a lie. “Aye, the dead are known to be impatient.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You failed to answer my question.”

Deliberately so. “I explained my reasoning when we last spoke.”

Sansa stroked behind Ghost’s ear. The great beast moved closer to her, a shield separating them. “Shall I kneel when she arrives? Should I bend the knee, kiss her ring? Will she take ownership of my chambers, take my place on the dais? What lands have you given her? What taxes have you offered up? How many northmen will die for her cause? Or mayhaps, you have offered me up in marriage?”

That angered him. “You know I would never.”

“Do I?” She tilted her head, as if to judge him. “A raven came three days past. Sealed in red wax, a dragon with three heads. It told us a very different story.”

Jon stilled. “I did not send it.”

She moved quickly. Sansa grabbed his cloak, stroking along the edges. “Red and black are not colors worn by any house here in the north, your grace. Or is it my lord?”

“Mine was destroyed by fire.”Jon dearly wished to see the letter that raven sent. He’d toss it into the closest funeral pyre gladly, burning her words away.

“You once said we should trust each other and I did. Now, I must thank you for it.”

He sensed a trap. “I trust you more than you would believe, Sansa.”

Her lips curled into a snarl. “Trusted me to be a fool. So, I thank you, my lord, for the reminder. I will not make that mistake again,” she said venomously.

“You have it wrong.” He pulled her close, gently tilting her chin so she would look at him. “Do you think so little of me? After what we said, after that moment in the godswood…”

“…when we forgot who we were.” She left him there alone. Ghost merely glanced at him before choosing to accompany her.

“My queen of winter,” he mumbled to the dead spirits buried below him. They were not done, whether Sansa willed it or no.

He went to visit Bran in his new chambers, located on the first floor of Winterfell’s great keep.

“Sit down, Jon. We have much to speak of.”

So he listened and Bran spoke.

After, all Jon could think on were his dreams. The dark crypts and the stern faces, all screaming out to him in their wrath, he did not belong there. The assurance Sansa had once given him had faded to a whisper, so faint he could not hear it. He was not a Stark, had never been.

“You will eat now, Jon, every bite. When you are done, we will talk.”

His chambers had grown dark, the room chilled from lack of fire. Sansa stood above him, clad in the same gown she wore earlier. She directed him to the table where the promised meal waited.

“You were not at supper.”

“I had no particular desire for company. Did Bran send you?”

“He did not. Did you think I could stay away?”

After they last spoke, Jon thought exactly that. “I suspected you would have no great desire for my presence.”

“I am angry, but my love for you has not lessened.” She clasped his hand, pulling it into her lap. “Will you share your thoughts with me?”

He could not look at her. Jon kept his attention on their fingers, laced together. His nails were broken and chipped. Every part of Sansa was beautiful. “I thought it was only your mother I shamed. I wonder of Elia Martell too. Is that odd? I traded one father who dishonored his wife for another.”

“Did you know I met her brother while in King’s Landing? I spoke with him once or twice, he loved her dearly. She always made him laugh, she enjoyed cyvasse, and was a devoted mother. If anyone shamed her, it was the man Rhaegar Targaryan, not you. It is a great tragedy, when great lords plot, it is usually the innocents that pay.”

“And she died, as my own mother did.” Jon had dreamed of his mother as a child, always imagined she would sing to him at night. That she would be kind and gentle. “He so rarely spoke of her, only that she was wild.”

“Perhaps she was.” Sansa paused, softly pulling his arm. “Will you look at me? Maybe she was wild, but I know she loved you. Do you realize she begged her brother to bring her home to Winterfell with you? Our father kept her secret but he did just that. Your mother has been here with you all this time, she’s watched you grow into a man.”

Mortification filled him, Jon could no longer fight off the tears that spilled down. “What am I?”

She wiped at his cheeks. “The very same man you were before. Ridiculously stubborn, closed off, unable to listen to good counsel, overly attached to his sword, and still so very dear to me.”

He gave a laugh that held little mirth. “I’m not your brother.”

“No, you are not. I know Robb loved you as a brother and would endlessly reassure you of that if here were here now. I know Arya still thinks of herself as your beloved little sister. I know Ned Stark raised you as his own son and gave up his own honor to keep you safe. That is what matters, not a man long dead who you will never know.” She stood up, returning with an item she placed on the table. “I began making this for you the very same night you left here and only finished it two days past. We will talk of this tomorrow and again, every day, as long as you need. But, remember, you decide who you are. Not any of them. When you know, I will be waiting.”

She kissed his cheek, close to his ear. The touch light, chaste. Sansa left him alone with his thoughts. Jon traced the stitching on the cloak she made for him, her work was exquisite. The ruby red eyes glowed against the white embroidery of the wolf. He took note of the fine materials, realizing it could be used as a bridal cloak.

He stood from the table and removed the cloak he wore to throw it into his solar’s fireplace. Jon took one of the candles Sansa had lit and used it to set the material on fire. He watched as the flames took hold, consuming the wool and silk fibers until nothing remained but black and grey ash. After, he picked up the parchment he had set down earlier in the day to read Sansa’s message one last time before before setting the candle flame to it. Done, he blew out the candle and left his room.

Jon stood before her door. He drew the fingers of his right hand into a fist and opened it. Sansa stood, waiting, she wore a thin gown of white silk with silver clasps in her hair. The room was lit by the fire, the flames danced about, casting a mix of grey shadows about the room. The orange light made her glow, Jon could see the curves of her body. They stared back at each other, unspeaking.

He felt awkward, had not given any thought to his choice of words but he knew one thing. “I’m the bastard boy of Winterfell and I did not kneel.” Two things.

Sansa’s lids drew shut as a whimper escaped her.

“And I am not your brother.”

“I am sorry, Jon. For my anger earlier today, I should have listened.” She spoke hurriedly, apologetic.

“You lived in King’s Landing for too long, hiding yourself away.”

She approached him, placing a hand over his heart. “I lied to you, we did not forget ourselves that day by the heart tree. I knew then.”

“I wanted to crown you my queen.”

“I will not do so now.  I’m frightened. I have not….since…” She could not finish. Sansa refused to speak his name.

“Nor have I.”

Sansa gave a sharp nod before taking his hand, leading him to the bed chambers. He shut the door behind them and faced her. “I do not expect anything.”

She smiled. “I expect many things.”

He kissed her then, keeping the touch gentle. A moan escaped her lips, a moan of pleasure, a reminder of what they both longed for. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, drawing them closer. He deepened the kiss, tasting her, before moving away. “Only what you want,” he murmured against her. Jon wondered if she could hear his heart, the beating felt like a roar between his ears

She swallowed nervously. “Will you undress first?”

He did as she requested, removing his boots and sword belt first, dropping them both by his side. His tunic came next, followed by his breeches and small clothes until he wore only his name day suit for her. He was hard.

Sansa traced the scars along his chest and belly, and the one by his neck. He shivered when her fingers drifted lower, through the black curls by his legs. She moved behind him, he felt her stroke from one shoulder to another, before gliding lower down and facing him once again. “You are beautiful, Jon Snow.”

That made him uncomfortable. “I’ve been told so.”

“I doubt it. They spoke of your looks, I meant something very different.” She gathered her courage and drew up the thin gown she wore, gently placing it by his breeches. Sansa could not quite hide the tremble of her body.

He pretended not to see it. “Only what you want,” he repeated.

She closed her eyes, gathering her courage, before opening them. “I will not deny that I am frightened but I have also dreamed of this moment, perhaps more than I should have. I will not let fear dictate my actions.”

He nodded, not quite able to summon words. They walked to the bed together where he kissed her once more as they climbed on together, their lips joined.

“Jon,” she breathed against him. “Will you touch me?”

He nodded. “Can I kiss you?”

She blinked her tears away, they were not tears of pain or fear. “I want you too.”

He did so, touching and kissing every part of her body before moving between her legs where he brought forth the delicious sound of high-pitched moans from her as she writhed against him. After, Jon drew himself up so their eyes met. He felt her hands stroke along his back as she grinned in anticipation of his unasked question.

He entered her slowly, letting them both grow used to the feel of each other.  They moved together, learning each other’s body, until a frenzy took them both and he spilled as their breath mingled.

After, Jon held her in his arms. Their faces were flushed and a light sheen covered their bodies. He pulled at the locks of her hair, spreading it across his chest. “Marry me.”

“Jon.” She sounded surprised.

He looked down at her. “You are my queen in all but name. I will not force you but we both know it has been leading to this since that day by the heart tree.”

“I am not refusing you, it is not that.” Her voice broke. “If you had bent the knee, I would have supported you. I would have raged as well, but I would have done as you wished.”

“I know. You’d also have called me a thrice-damned fool and questioned every aspect of my decision. I’d have loved you for it.”

“We would need to explain to Bran and Arya as well as all your bannermen.” She spoke quietly, he could feel her breath against his bare skin.

“We would.”

“I did not let myself dream of this.”

“Nor I. It does not have to be a dream, Sansa. Perhaps we can bury our nightmares together.”

She drew herself up, chin resting against him. “I meant what I said earlier, we will talk about it every day, as long as you need. And I would gladly accept, if you will have me.”

They slept together in each other’s arms. It was a dreamless sleep. In the morning, they woke and dressed together, before leaving for the Winterfell godswood. Once they crossed the iron gate, he took her hand, pulling her close, as they walked the path together in silence. The only sound was the crunch of packed snow beneath them and the occasional burst of cold wind as it moved through the trees.

To their surprise, Bran, Arya and Ghost stood by the heart tree, waiting for them. Ghost was quiet, his red eyes staring as if in approval before moving closer. The five of them formed a circle, the last of the Starks. The heart tree bled, the limbs moved in the winter wind.

“You must marry before she arrives.” Bran spoke in that uncanny way he so often did now.

“You knew,” Sansa exclaimed.

“Of course, he told me last night. You can’t kiss in front of us though.”

Jon flushed.

“We have much to speak of. Winter is now here and the wolves have returned.”

Jon felt a chill go through him at Bran’s choice of words. He made a decision.

**Author's Note:**

> I considered making this an E rated story but decided not to. This is their first time and with Sansa's experiences, I wanted to grant them some privacy.
> 
> Also, Jon did not have any sort of romantic or sexual relationship with Dany. The only question is whether or not he would give her the north in exchange for help.


End file.
